Golden letters, Golden people
by IggyKitty
Summary: It's 2042 and WW3 is in full bloom. All nations have been kept under the watchful eye of there government. After major bombing to London, Will this been the downfall of Britain? Of England? Of Arthur? FrUK. Warning: Character death!


**_I feel so bad after writing this. I killed of my favorite character and made my second favorite cry. I'm so mean. _**

**_Sorry Iggy! Sorry Froggy! ;AAA; _**

**_Disclamer~ I own NOTHING~ Character belong to Hidekaz Himaruya! _**

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><p><em>The year is 2042 and World War 3 has broken out. The Russian government has bombed several nations, including Japan, America and England, at their capitals. All nations have been exiled to their own lands, working with their government to find a way to strike back. Not that they were having much luck, that is.<em>

'_Oh my! Feels just like I might die!_

_All I know is Everybody loves me! '_

Francis woke to the sound of his phone alarm. What was this? The tenth time it's gone off this morning? Sighing, he sat up and pulled the silk sheets from his body, as he reached for his phone.

Ten missed calls and four new messages. Something was wrong.

All the messages said the same thing '_Turn on the news._' Something was very wrong.

He rushed out the room, dropping his phone in the progress, he ran to the lounge to turn the television on to the news channel.

"_Today at around 5am, The nation of England, Arthur Kirkland, was found dead at his house after a mass bombing on London. _

_Is this is the downfall of England? Have we already lost this war? _

_More on this story later…"_

Francis dropped the remote. Arthur was dead. _His_ Arthur is dead. His Arthur, who he hadn't seen in mouths, had died at the hands of Russia. He felt tears run down his cheeks…

His Arthur, who he loved and who loved him back, was gone forever. _T-This couldn't be…!_

Falling to his knees, he buried his face with his hands and sobbed. It hurt too much, it felt like part of him was torn out of his body and tossed aside for the dogs.

The sound of the TV was drowned out by his cries, his sobs and his pleas for him to come back!

He wasn't sure how long it had been, how long he had sat there crying. It was long enough for all his tears to dry up.

He sat there crying until there were no more tears to cry.

Struggling to his feet, Francis turns the television off and wiped his eyes yet again. He'd have to call his government, And England's. There might be a war on, but there was going to be a funeral. He'd make sure.

Walking though into the corridor, he was met by a… unexpected sight. From where he was standing, he could see a single snow-while owl sitting on a table, only a few meters away.

Sniffing, he continued to stare at the bird. It was holding an envelope in its beak. A golden envelope. Moving forward, he took the shining paper from the creature, startling it slightly as he did so.

Turning the letter, he caught sight of writing…

'_Dear Francis'_

It was from Arthur. It had to be, who else would send an owl with a letter? It had his handwriting too! _H-How_? Without a second thought, Francis tore the envelope open and pulled the paper out.

'_Dear Francis _

_If you're reading this, then I'm dead. You probably wondering how I got this to you now, huh? I told you magic was real, didn't I? _

_Anyway, I better explain myself, right? _

_You see, I've had a hunch about my downfall for a while now and thought I'd prepare for it._

_This letter is basically my last 'Goodbye'._

_We've been through a lot, thick and thin._

_You help me a lot in my younger days, helped shape my language, people and culture._

_You lived up to your reputation and showed me real love, even. Thank you for that, Francis._

_I still remember the days when you'd chase my siblings off when they'd pick on me, when I was still tiny and weak. _

_Not that you were much help when you invaded me, around about the same time as that. _

_Damn you. Damn you and your beautiful blue eyes, your delicious food, dashing look and your bloody frog language…_

_Oh, how I will miss it all. How I will miss you._

_Even if you are a complete wanker. A loveable wanker. _

_If only you could see me now, crying over something like this. Death._

_I'm not scared, not at all. The Great British Empire isn't scared of death._

_No, I'll embrace it as a challenge._

_With that, I'd better go. Many letters to write, more spells to cast._

_One last favour for me, Francis? Win the war._

_Do it for me. Me and your people._

_Thank you, Francis, goodbye._

_I love you._

_-Arthur Kirkland. England._

Francis felt tears well up again. Arthur has known… Why didn't he tell anyone? That idiot! Rosbif! Stupid, stupid idiot…! He could of helped, he could of saved him! Oh… Who was he trying to kid? He weak compare to Russia. Very weak. Tearing his eyes away from the paper, he looked back at the owl- Wait…

The owl has vanished and in its place sat a scone. A single, brown scone.

'_How Arthur__,'_

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><p><em><strong>In my mind, Owls turn into scones. Deal with it. c: <strong>_

_**GAHH! I still feel terrible. eAe; I'm going to go cry in a corner now.**_

**_Francis' 'phone alert' - Everybody loves me by OneRepublic. (Look it up, It's amazing and /so/ France.)_**


End file.
